Green Blade
by altersuperego
Summary: Sequel to Cold Rain.  Hitsugaya, Yachiru, Ichigo and Rukia set out to find Hinamori. But in the shadowy lands of war and intrigue, they might lose themselves instead.
1. Chapter 1

Sequel to Dry Heat and Cold Rain. Won't make much sense on its own.

Not mine.

Warnings: I doubt any die-hard romantics have stuck with me this long, but just to make sure: fluffy HitsuHina fans will probably HATE this.

As always, feel free to flame.

* * *

The Green Blade

Empty Eden

It was late November, or, at least, it felt like it. Evening was coming on. A huddled figure trudged up the hill from the fields toward the manor. It was a large building in the old Japanese style, built low and wide along deceptively simple lines. Despite its size, the place seemed desiccated, like the molted shell of an insect. Like a house that was no longer a home.

The young woman (_was_ she still young?) hugged herself a little tighter, pulling at the thin fabric of her sleeves. Her fading hair whipped around her face as she trudged uphill, dragging her feet through the tall dry grass. The winter sun was sinking into the western woods, and a chill rose across the brittle fields. It always seemed cold, these days.

On reaching the small house, she slipped off her shoes and hurried inside. It was scarcely warmer in the kitchen -- the wooden walls and papered windows allowed too much heat to escape. Nevertheless the woman threw another small branch on the stove, blew on the embers, and began to prepare a soup with the wild vegetables she had gathered. Her garden had failed this year, devastated by blight and the early frost.

The woman knelt by the pot while the water simmered, smoothing her plain kimono. Distractedly, she pulled her hair into a bun and dabbed at her face with a small towel. Her husband might come tonight. He did, from time to time, when he could spare a moment from the war.

Despite all her efforts her eyes wandered to the three small alters against the wall, to the three small candles that flickered there, seemingly eternal in their sad vigil. To all that remained of her children.

She closed her eyes, trying not to see the dark figure on her doorstep, the outstretched icy wings. She tried not to smell the blood in the air, to hear the unnatural silence or to feel the bubble of panic in her stomach. So many years later (how many years?), she had to bite her lip to stop herself from calling out to them, from screaming their names and hoping against hope for an answer.

She gasped softly, holding back the habitual sting of tears. And then, as always, she had to fight back a floodtide of anger, and then a sickening wave of guilt. She had believed in him. She had been so sure Sousuke had been wrong; she had screamed at her husband in his defense. The betrayal, this awful war ... She had insisted with all her strength that he was innocent, that Yamamoto or Kurosaki were framing him or controlling him. And, truth be told, she wouldn't have cared if he were guilty. He was her best friend, her only family. She would have forgiven him anything, anything but that.

The soup was ready. Meticulously she poured it out into two small bowls, which she placed side by side on the low table. Then she waited.

Long after the meal had gone cold she knelt there, unmoving. The fire died, leaving only the candlelight to witness the grim determination on her face. For the first time, Hinamori Momo allowed herself to speak the words that had festered so long in her heart.

"Tourshirou," she whispered. The small hands clenched on her lap until her nails cut into her palms.

"I will kill you."

TBC

* * *

Hi everyone!

So, just before I finished with Cold Rain, I got a new job. No, I didn't lose my last job because of fanfiction, but I decided that I really, really needed to take a break from the old addiction. So I've been very very not here; sorry that I haven't responded to messages and the like. I'm a bit of an obsessive type, so if I want to step back from something I enjoy, I really need to cut myself off cold.

All the same, I got a message from a reader the other day that more or less said: your profile scolds other writers for not finishing their fics and you have not updated since the Jurassic age. Now, in my book, Cold Rain was finished. But I guess the reader has a point -- there's quite a lot of unresolved plot points so some of you may not actually have closure on this story.

Long story short, now I have guilt. o.O

So I've decided to dive into a third and final installment. I warn you now, though - I've been playing with some ideas for a while but I'm NOT DONE with this story, like, not even in my head. So I can't guarantee that it won't suck. This first installment is more of a teaser than anything else; everything else will follow as I have time.


	2. Chapter 2

OK, quick clarification: I don't hate Hinamori; I think that this should be a pretty sympathetic portrayal, actually. I actually kind of admire the ability for single-minded obsessive love, possibly because I do not posses it. I find the relationship between her and Hitsugaya really interesting, though not as straightforward as your typical romance.

I just wanted to warn everybody that, if you're looking for sweet happy Momo-Toushiro moments, you ain't gonna find 'em here. There will be moments, and hopefully they'll be, I dunno, moving. But fluffy? No. nope. Sorry. Not gonna happen.

Thank you for the great reviews! I'll find some time to respond to them all, I swear. Just, well, not immediately. In the meantime, here's the latest. Please feel free to criticize, or even to suggest! Like I said, this is seriously still in progress -- there are major plot points that still escape me.

Do not own.

* * *

Chapter Two

The Tempter

"Aahg!" The archer could not hold back the cry as a cero pierced his upper arm, forcing him to drop his bow. Part of his analytical mind noted with relief that it was a clean wound, cutting through muscle but missing bone or major blood vessel. The rest of his mind screamed in pain.

However, it was not the first time Ishida Uryuu had felt the burn of a cero. "And by God," he swore grimly, scrambling for cover, "it won't be the last." He was disarmed, but not for long -- the bow was made of spirit particles, after all. It had disintegrated before it had hit the ground. All he had to do was pull in enough reiatsu to form another. All he had to do was survive so long.

The menos behind him reared and bellowed, its red eyes glowing weirdly. The cry was taken up all across the suburban Kyoto neighborhood, as the monsters closed in on their prey. Three menos, Ishida tallied, beginning to pant as he ran. At least twelve ordinary hollows. Around twenty blind civilians milled about, oblivious to the turmoil. Almost twice that many ghosts clung to the area, hiding or fighting or running as their chains of fate allowed. With no one to protect them, Ishida knew, they would all be hollows by the end of the day.

This is what happens, you fools, he thought with a mental snarl. This is what happens when the high and mighty death gods ignore their duties for ten sodding years. Too busy with your pointless war to worry about soul burials. Because of your carelessness, the world will be overrun by hollows -- not by the hoards of Hueco Mundo, but by ordinary helpless human souls who have nowhere else to turn.

The mental rant was a litany by now, and it helped to calm him. It gave him purpose. It was the Quincy, these days, who still stood between the hunters and the hunted. The Ishidas and their followers tried to put a dent in the tidal wave growth of the hollow population, while gathering ordinary souls to the safe zones. There, the few shinigami who could be spared from battle would ferry them to the other side.

Ironic, really. Now the Quincy preserved the natural spiritual balance, as best they could, while a shinigami war threatened to tear existence apart.

With an oath, Ishida leapt to one side, barely avoiding a spray of something unpleasant. Acid, judging by the way it smoked. A squat, wide-mouthed monstrosity grinned over the wall at him, as a menos lumbered over the row of houses. Ishida hurled an emerald vial at the closer figure and ran for his life. He heard the flapping of broad white wings as still more hollows descended on the street, keening with hunger. The Quincy could feel them all converging. It would not be long before he was trapped.

That's when he saw her, huddled in the corner of the bus stop kiosk. Her eyes locked on his, momentarily, then refocused on the demon shapes behind him. She looked scared, naturally enough, but also ... hostile. Angry. Accusatory.

The Quincy skidded to a halt and doubled back, causing the slow-moving menos to nearly topple over in surprise. An unexpected bonus. Neverthelesss, he was now running directly towards the main body of the enemy, and his heart sunk. Still. No point in leading them straight to the woman. He read it in her face and in her budding spirit power. The Karakura Syndrome, they called it these days. He made a mental note to try to try to recruit her, if he lived.

That hope vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. The other two menos had caught up with the first -- they stood towering in the street behind him, swaying slightly in the wind and screaming. Before him, hollows seems to melt out of the houses and gardens and gutters. Far stronger than they used to be, in more innocent times. Far more than twelve. Ishida pulled out his spirit bow -- it was not fully ready, but it would have to do -- and took careful aim.

BAM! The young man staggered back, shielding his eyes with his arms. A massive explosion had rocked the street, tearing up the sidewalk and knocking over telephone poles. A massive, pepto-bismol pink explosion. The hollows caught directly in the blast wailed in anguish as they seemed to disintegrate from the inside out, collapsing into sparkling heaps of glowing ash. Others seemed to catch on a strange flameless fire, which they rolled and flailed in a vain effort to extinguish.

Ishida was too experienced a fighter to goggle at the unexpected reprieve; he turned instantly to face the menos and sent a blinding volley of arrows towards their eyes. But these clattered harmlessly to the ground, deflected off the massive glacier that suddenly ripped across the neighborhood, encasing and crushing the giants in a mountain of ice.

"Show yourself, damn you!!!" the Quincy bawled, relieved and angry at the same time. "Miserable skulking shiniga..."

A presence materialized just behind him. "That's not nice," a girl's voice said, in a scolding tone. "You notice us saving your scrawny butt, Four-eyes?!"

It took him a long moment to place her. It had been a long time, and Kusajishi Yachiru had changed dramatically. She looked almost fifteen years old, these days. Her figure was still slender, almost boyish, and she wore her pink hair tied up in two pig tails. The greatest change, besides her height, lay in her great eyes -- they seemed somehow deeper than they had been. One could believe those eyes capable of expressing emotions other than love or murder.

Yachiru's smile, on the other hand, was as irrepressible as ever. "Snowball's mad I'm stopping to chat," she said matter-of-factly. "He doesn't remember you so much."

Sensing another spirit force, Ishida glanced up and nearly gasped aloud. He knew Hitsugaya, of course -- had even halfway expected him, after the glacier. Everyone knew his story, if you traveled in the right circles. But Ishida was caught completely off guard by the look of pure cold green-eyed malevolent warning that glared down at him. It also shocked him that anyone, even Kusajishi, could nickname _that_ something like "Snowball."

There was nothing cutesy about _that._

Handsome, yes. A human would mistake him for twenty, twenty-one years old, tall and lean but no longer skinny. His hair was still spiky, but shorter than it had been, almost military. Still, with his heavy-lidded pale eyes, to say nothing of his scars, Hitsugaya looked more like a wild animal than ever Zaraki had -- like some graceful, proud, and deadly predator.

"That was reckless of you," the newcomer growled.

At that, all of the Quincy's pent-up anger and fear burst out. "Reckless of ME??" he yelled, his balled fists beginning to glow a little. "RECKLESS of me? You ... you ... do you have any sense of secrecy at all?? Do you have any SENSE?! Remember Karakura? Remember Tokyo? Remember your own #$& protocols!? The humans MUST NOT KNOW about us, damn you!! HOW..." he gestured at the shattered street, "how are we supposed to explain this?"

Yachiru hummed quietly, and put a finger to her lips. She didn't look all that concerned, though. "Gas explosion," she offered.

Ishida turned to glare at the giant, craggy wall of ice growing out of the asphalt, then at the man responsible. Hitsugaya just shrugged.

"Global warming," he said shortly.

The Quincy reminded himself, given the stories he had heard, how pointless it was to try to reason with these two. "I suppose," he grunted sourly, "you're looking for Urahara?"

"Yup!" Without warning, Yachiru scooped Ishida into an awkward hug -- awkward on his part, anyway, as he struggled in vain to avoid it. "That's from Rukia!" she chirruped, "She told me to thank you if I saw you, cuz you came and visited her that once when you really don't much like Soul Society or Ichi or nothing and that was really sweet of you."

He stuttered for a while, trying to extricate himself. "Yes, well... how is, uh, how is she?"

"She's fine! Actually, she just got..."

"Wait," the young man above them said suddenly, shifting his stance a little. His eyes warned the girl not to say any more, then turned back to the Quincy. "You..." He gazed a long time on Ishida, his white brows knit in concentration. "Didn't you wear a cape?"

Ishida felt himself becoming, if possible, even redder. That would have to be the one thing the kid remembered. "I was a _teenager_," he growled.

Suddenly Yachiru's face turned stern. "_I'm_ a teenager and that's no excu.."

"You're not, actually," the human snapped at her, "and I wish you'd stop pretending to be." Recalling that he had spent the last decade avoiding personal relationships with shinigami -- indeed, avoiding personal relationships full stop -- he decided that it was long past time to return to business. He glanced over at the bus stop; the woman was gone. No surprise there.

He sighed heavily. "Can you at least take care of the radiation?" he muttered. "If you clean up your little corner store Chernobyl, I'll show you where that snake Urahara's hiding these days."

She blinked at him, then chuckled. "Don't be silly!" she beamed. "My shikai only leaves a residue of santonium, which, I grant you, has a half-life of 3.2 million years, but given the phase-shift between realities the fallout only emits omicrom particles. That won't bother the normals. Punch the guts out of hollows, though. Oh, and," she paused a split second, "and spirit-types and reiastu-users like, um, like you. You might want to put up a sign."

ooooooooooooooo

Hinamori sat pensively, looking out over the long field. Poppies used to grow here, she was sure of it. The thought no longer depressed her, though. Since her resolution the other night, she felt strangely light, almost happy.

There is no tonic like purpose.

It is worth remarking how often important events catch us by surprise. We do not really believe that our lives have meaning, so we are unprepared, even unable, to respond to moments of obvious significance. Hinamori, however, had found her mission. She knew her destiny, be it tragic or evil, and she embraced it. That is why she barely startled at the serpent that rose phantom-like out of the grass in front of her.

The snake was white, and, she guessed, as long as she was tall. Its body lacked the silken sheen of most of its kind, that soft reptile shine that is often mistaken for slime. This one looked dry and inflexible, as if made out of bone, and its eyes were empty sockets.

She felt the slightest thrill of fear as it swayed before her. Without knowing why, she brought her knees together, and clenched one fist in her lap. Her other hand moved silently behind her, to the long dagger she kept tucked in her obi. Though everyone else should forget it, she had been a shinigami and a warrior long before she had been a wife and mother.

The snake laughed. There was no other word for it. A high, wheezing sound, very like a sneer. "And a good morning to you, Momo-chan!" it hissed, or said -- she couldn't tell whether its voice was real or in her head. It had a strange accent, almost familiar, but strangely distorted. "That's no way to greet an old friend!"

"I do not know you," she answered calmly, drawing the blade into the open.

"You do," the creature replied. "Even in this form. I'll tell you a little secret: your Master can't make us really invisible to you. Well, he can, but it's too much work on his part. He has other things to deal with, things that he thinks are more important. So he just assigns us a different form. I've slithered through your world for ten years now," again the hissing chuckle, "you just never look down."

She did not understand this, and did not respond. The serpent continued, beginning to move in a slow circle around the rock on which she sat. "You look," it hissed quietly, "like a woman preparing for a journey. Like someone about to leave this place."

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Do you plan to tell your husband?"

An even longer pause. Hinamori slowly shook her head.

The snake had wound its way slowly closer and now its tongue darted almost close enough to touch her ear. "Good," it whispered. "Then I can help you."

TBC

Hmm... so, once again, I find myself with too much setup to get out of the way. Sorry it's a little slow. Please let me know what you think! Everyone does understand where Hinamori is, right? I don't want to make things too obvious, but it shouldn't be too confusing either. If anyone has any theories about what's going on, I would be fascinated to hear them.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, folks.

I don't know if anyone will actually read this, anymore. I want to thank all of you who reviewed/scolded me for not updating over the last … oh my Lord, it's been a long time.

The only excuse I can offer is the truth: I've kind of been in a serious, work-related, probably chemical-imbalance-induced spiritual-crisis/family-intervention-level depression and I just _could not_ write for a long while. Long story. Very boring. Quite unpleasant.

I kept my "alien abduction" rant up on my profile, aware of its profound hypocrisy, because I felt that if I ever took it down, or put up a HIATUS notice, I would be done. Finished. No more writing for me. So I kept it up and told myself: I'll write it when I'm better. Honestly, finishing this fic has weirdly become an important milestone in my head, a sign of my becoming me again.

I'm not all the way okay, but better. So I'm giving this a go. Please forgive me past laziness and present suckiness. This story may not be any good, but it _will_ get done.

Once again, especially since I've been out of the game so long, any and all criticism, advice, grammar tweaks, lectures, recriminations, etc, very very welcome.

Not mine.

* * *

In the Land of Nod

"I don't know how you talked me into this," Ichigo grumbled, tugging again at the long mask that partially obscured his vision.

"Talked you into it?" his wife, nestled in his arms, craned her neck backwards to glare at him. There was a stir in the crowd around them as half-sleeping hollows shifted uncomfortably. There were too many of them in the transport; it was hard to breathe. Rukia bit back her next words, hissing through barely open lips. "I told you not to follow me!"

"Like I would let you try this #!% alone," Ichigo snarled under his breath. She could not hear him, but she could read his aura accurately enough.

"I told you," she repeated, letting her face fall into the folds of her robe. "I owe him."

For a long while they rode on in silence. Occasionally they would hear a rough laugh from the drivers in front of the caravan, or a muffled curse and brief scuffle among the passengers. For the most part it was too hot to fight, even this late at night. The wheels kicked up a constant cloud of sand, choking everything.

"Oh, God," Rukia's voice, audible only to him, trembled slightly, "I hope they're okay."

Ichigo cursed to himself. Damn that idiot scientist! He and Rukia were supposed to have met the rest of the party two days ago. The pair of them had meant to spy out the lay of the land a few days before the main attack.

But Urahara's portal hadn't sent them, as expected, into the familiar Las Noches desert. Instead they had stepped through to find themselves in mountainous country, on the shores of a dead ocean. On the farthest outskirts of the Hueco Mundo.

That was five days ago now. Five days of hard travel, of worry verging on panic. They had not brought a return portal (too easy to detect). All they knew was that they were deep in enemy territory -- deeper than any shinigami had ventured before, and they had no choice but to keep moving.

* * *

"Well, now," Yachiru murmured, sipping at something that looked suspiciously like a cocktail, "This is different."

Ishida grunted. He didn't like clubs in general, and this one was particularly bad. The music thudded away at a volume calculated to drown out all thought, and the thrashing dancers left almost no room to breathe. Not, given the clientele's sanitary habits, that you would want to.

The petite shinigami twirled her tiny umbrella thoughtfully. "They can see us," she said, biting her lip.

"Not all of them," Ishida's attention was only half at the table; he was scanning the dark corners of the room for someone or something. "But most of them, yes. Urahara's caters to the Kankura Syndrome crowd. They tend to be socially isolated," he straightened, and waved at someone, "cliquish, paranoid, borderline suicidal …"

"Smelly."

Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed. "They're not ... much interested in us." Limited as his human interactions had been, he would have expected pink hair, black kimonos and ancient weaponry to stand out in a crowd.

"This place boasts the weirdest of Japan's youth culture," Ishida gestured about him. "Enough said. Besides, while these people have seen unspeakable horrors in the spirit world," he tried to restrain the bitterness in his voice, "they've had very little experience with the shinigami."

Abruptly he stood, and started pushing his way to the opposite side of the club. Wordlessly -- there was nothing to say -- they followed.

* * *

_The days had passed like fevered dreams. They had walked through weird villages, where market stalls bristled with teeth and empty-eyed hollow children played in the dust. The streets were filled with traders, dressed in bone armor and what looked horribly like skin. They would bellow out their wares as they walked, dragging dozens of human souls along the ground by their soul chains. _

_Ichigo had exploded with rage the first time they encountered one of these. It took all of his strength (and Rukia's strongest binding kidou) to stop him from obliterating the village and freeing the ghosts. She was right, of course. Putting aside their broken cover, it was doubtful he could have saved any of the humans -- most were unconscious already, half-devoured, not enough heart left even for a soul burial._

_"It was never like this before," Rukia whispered to him, holding him out of sight in the shadow of a crude building. She stroked his arm, trying to calm him down. "Before Aizen, I mean. The hollows used to be nomadic hunters -- they moved about trying to find dead souls that the shinigami missed. There was never enough food, and half the time they ended up cannibalizing each other."_

_He closed his eyes and shook his head, repulsed but she plowed on mercilessly. "Stop it. That was ... that is their nature. That is the nature of all living things. To eat. To survive."_

_"That," he snarled, "is not natural." He glared out onto the street, where a particularly hideous slug-creature was waving a translucent old man above its head._

_"No," as ever, the emotion in Rukia's eyes did not touch her quiet voice. "The war has effectively stopped shinigami from protecting the humans. You have to understand, for the hollow, it was as if food started to fall from the sky. Their numbers have skyrocketed. In the last ten years, they've settled in spirit areas tied to large human populations, like, like farmers." She swallowed, aware of how callous it all sounded. "We're beginning to see stratified societies, specialized occupations…," she nodded towards the monstrosity, "…barter." _

_He swallowed, suddenly overcome by nausea. "Let's get out of here," he had murmured, pulling his wife deeper into the shadow of the alley and towards the open road. "I don't want to be around when they work out the concept of fast food."_

* * *

Luckily, the country hollow seemed to revere the arrancar, especially those, like Ishar and Rocha, who were traveling to the palace to offer their services to Aizen-sama. Ichigo's short temper and obvious disgust fit their disguises perfectly, and very few creatures of any type had dared to challenge them.

Letting the steady rocking motion of the vehicle lull him, Ichigo settled back in the transport. He half-lifted one hand to the hole in his chest, but then he forced himself to be still. The illusion would hold -- portal screw-up aside, Urahara knew his work. Ichigo would only draw attention if he kept picking at it.

His wife sat still and bolt-upright. The hole in her body was only too real, her familiarity with this place all too natural. He had to repress a shudder whenever she spoke to a native. After her long service here, she could imitate the accent of some of the country hollows. She could even speak a little of the old Hueco Mundo dialect.

I trust her, he told himself. Then he told himself again: I trust her. It wasn't her idea to come back to this place. It doesn't matter how her disappearance looks to Soul Society, a month after being released from prison and a week after her wedding. It doesn't matter what they think. I trust her.

Why did we agree to this? he wondered for the thousandth time. A suicide mission to rescue a girl that he, Ichigo, had never met, that Hitsugaya hadn't seen in ten years, a girl who may not even still be alive. Hell of a way to spend a honeymoon.

He sighed, and quietly sought Rukia's hand. They both knew why. He recalled Matsumoto's face, while she had explained the plan to them. She had never spoken it, but there was no mistaking the plea in her voice. If you don't come, he'll go alone. He'll go and he'll be killed. Aizen's waiting for him.

The moon rose, spilling light through the grating in the walls of the truck. Grateful for a break in the murkiness, he turned to look out. Over the seemingly endless sea of sand, they saw for the first time the tiny pale towers of Las Noches on the horizon. A chill settled on their hearts. They both knew it, deep inside: Aizen was waiting for them, too.

* * *

"They're waiting for us," Yachiru's voice was level and calm, which never boded well. "Because, see, we said we'd meet them."

Urahara had always looked, well, a little disreputable. Ten years of warfare had not particularly improved him. His kimono still hung loose to the navel, and his ridiculous hat still shielded his eyes. He had lost the wooden shoes, though, and no longer bothered with the captain's overcoat.

The man laughed a little nervously. That also was a bad sign. Urahara Kisuke did not, as a rule, get nervous. "Why, Lieutenant Kusajishi! Welcome to my Kyoto headquarters! Such a pleasure…."

"It's Captain Kusajishi, actually," the girl flashed him her brightest and most terrifying smile. "I guess Big Boobies didn't tell you. Maybe she didn't tell you about the plan, either? The one that involved you sending Ichi and Ruki over, and then you NOT splitting town before sending Snowball and me after them."

"I assure you, my dear..."

"Maybe she didn't mention to you that we were supposed to rendezvous two days ago? I bet that's it." Urahara backed away from the menace in her voice, but froze when he felt Hitsugaya's aura behind him.

Yachiru continued, gesturing with one hand as she advanced on him. "Matsumoto's_ such_ an airhead. Probably she said, 'oh, Kisuke darling, here's the plan. We'll send one team over on a reconnaissance mission. Then the other team will spend five days searching the world for your sorry untrustworthy ass.' "

"Hold on!" Ishida burst out, unable to contain himself. He had quite enjoyed watching the scientist squirm, but this revelation took precedent. "Are you saying Rukia's been THERE all that time? What the hell is going on!? You said she was all right!"

"She's fine." Hitsugaya said quietly. "It's almost impossible to communicate across the dimensions, but Division 12 has managed to create a small tracking device. We'd know if they had been killed."

"And if they were captured?" Ishida spat. This -- _this_ is why he didn't deal with shinigami anymore.

"They would have destroyed the device," the ice wielder answered. "It's tied to their reiatsu, so they can do it with a thought. They're still free," he turned back to the shopkeeper, "and that's the one and only reason you're still breathing, Urahara."

The man straightened and beamed, dusting off his kimono and straightening his absurd hat. "I do apologize for the inconvenience. But I have to keep moving, you know," his face took on a martyred air, "such is my tragic fate."

The young shinigami watched him narrowly. It was true, Urahara's operations were always jumping about. Aizen needed a million strong souls to re-forge the King's Key and storm the gates of Heaven. After the Seige of Karakura, Urahara had been moving from city to city, dispersing pockets of reiatsu that bubbled up in the human population. Without concentrated centers of spirit power, Hueco Mundo's no longer had to take over one city -- they had to conquer the world.

All the same, it wouldn't have been hard to leave a forwarding address. Dispassionately, he watched Yachiru seize the older man and shake him like a rag doll, screaming something much along those same lines. Urahara wasn't nearly the flake he pretended to be. If they couldn't find him five days ago, it was because he didn't want to be found.

By the same token, if Urahara had truly wanted to disappear, they wouldn't be standing here now, threatening to disembowel him. He wanted to delay us, Hitsugaya thought, clenching his fists. Probably by exactly five days. And there was absolutely no point in asking him why.

"Put him down," he ordered, and Yachiru reluctantly complied, though she kicked the scientist once more in the shins for good measure.

After Urahara regained his balance (and his breath), he made a grateful bow in the ice-spirit's direction. "Ah," he gasped, his hands still on his knees, "Hitsugaya-taichou. The Celestial Guardian."

Yachiru shivered as the temperature fell a few degrees. She had heard this title before, of course. The Rukongai villagers had believed little Toushiro to be some sort of reincarnate Heavenly spirit. It was nonsense, but what could you expect? When a four-year-old beats up Jidanbou, then gives him a lecture on manners, that sort of story gets around.

They had teased him about it at the Academy -- he had been far more sensitive to that sort of thing back then. It wouldn't matter anymore, except… she was pretty sure that the last person to taunt him with it had been Ichimaru Gin. As deeply as Hitsugaya repressed most of his memories, some things he simply did not forget.

Yachiru swiftly decided to change the subject. "Hey, where are …" a sudden premonition pulled her up short. For the first time she took in the griminess of the place, the empty ramen bowls, the general air of neglect. She had been about to ask after Monkey-boy and Android girl. "… Jinta and Ururu?"

Urahara bent his head, so that only a brief, sad smile was visible. "Oh, long since gone. Did Matsumoto-san not tell you?"

He sighed. Now that she looked closer she saw black shadows under his eyes. "Please excuse the mess. To be honest, I didn't expect you until tomorrow." He sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get started. I'm so glad Ishida-san has decided to join you! It's always good to have variety on these little expeditions!"

The Quincy nearly choked on his tongue. "No, wait ... what? I ..." But the shopkeeper was sweeping out the door, gesturing for them to follow.

Ishida stared wildly after him, gaping. Then he rounded on the shinigami, intending to say something nasty and storm out., but --- there was only the one exit. No way to go but their way.

"Yay!" Yachiru grabbed one of his hands. "This'll be fun! We'll bond; I'll do your nails!" She made a face. "These are filthy. You just can't kill people with nails like that."

Hitsugaya simply shrugged. "You can come if you like."

The archer slumped, defeated, and walked after Urahara.

* * *

The more she heard the snake's impossible voice, the clearer it sounded to Hinamori. Indeed, surreal as it was, its very presence seemed to sharpen her mind. It was as if the weird contours of its stark white body sent the rest of her world out of focus. As if only she and the snake existed.

"Why have you resolved to leave?" it asked her.

The question sounded formal, like the words of some priest sending a hero on a sacred quest. It also sounded comical, hissed through the serpent's immobile lips with an ever so slight country accent.

Hinamori did not smile. She had never been what you would call a humorous person. "There is someone I have to kill."

"Ah. And who would that be?"

Hinamori found herself grateful for this bizarre little encounter. It felt right, somehow, to declare her new purpose before setting off. To name her enemy. "Hitsugaya Toushirou."

Normally, these hero-sending ceremonies run fairly fluid. The inquisitor, after all, knows the answers in advance. At this, however, the serpent paused, seemingly surprised. "Why?" it whispered.

"He killed my children."

Again the strange not quite silent laughter. "Ah. Is that what your lord and master told you? Heh." The white snake swayed and bobbed, radiating amusement. "Jealous after all. That's the kind of big kid he is, I guess -- even if he don't like his toy, he ain't about to share."

"My ... my husband didn't tell me," she choked, confused. "I saw it."

"Same difference." Hinamori did a quick double-take. She could have sworn that the snake shrugged, but ... how can a snake shrug?

Oblivious, the creature continued. " 'Course, those l'il munchkins took a heck of a lot of concentration, an' he ain't got the time. Or … " a long, drawn out hiss followed, chilling her to he bones, "has he figured it out? Surely not…."

Hinamori did not understand, and didn't bother trying. "It wasn't because Shirou was jealous; he never felt that way about me. I don't know why he did it." Because her husband wouldn't support his rebellion? To cut off ties to his former life? Maybe he was worried that our children would be too powerful. "I don't know," she repeated, her face hardening. "I don't care."

"Well, well. If this ain't the new and improved H. Momo," the serpent murmured sardonically. "The door is this way."

They had stopped at the edge of the meadow, and Hinamori stood eying the dark wood before her. She raised slim fingers to her lips, as if to stop herself from betraying fear.

"What's the matter?" the dry voice mocked, beside her. The snake circled slowly about her in the dry grass; the rustling sounded like soft applause. "We were so confident a moment ago!"

"There are wolves in the forest," she whispered.

"There are indeed," it replied, more seriously, "and worse beyond that. What is your plan, exactly?"

She did not answer at first, quietly chewing a fingernail. What was she thinking? She had never been a match for Shirou, not even at her height, and now she was ten years out of practice.

Then she straightened and banished the doubt from her mind, replacing it with a single image. She moved her hand, watching the tendons ripple, willing strength into her fingers.

"Where," she said, "is my sword?"

* * *

The trio pushed through the boisterous crowd, squeezing past the bar, trying in vain to keep up with Urahara. Halfway to the door, Yachiru felt a hand on her arm. She tried to brush it off – there was no avoiding contact in this throng, after all – but the grip only tightened.

She turned to see two girls, apparently in their teens, draped over the bar furniture. Their postures were no doubt intended to signal their sexual availability, but in fact suggested something closer to muscular atrophy, or at least extreme discomfort.

Yachiru had seen the two of them earlier from across the room -- they had been eyeing Hitsugaya with undisguised lust. He hadn't noticed, which was a good thing. Snowball interpreted close attention as the prelude to attack, and he tended to be pre-emptive in such matters.

"Nice katana," Yachiru heard one of them say, "We don't get enough cosplay down here."

The taller of the two released Yachiru's sleeve and nodded indolently at her companion. "Yuri and I were just wondering about your friend. Are you two, you know?" She leered a little, and her fingers wandered unwisely towards the pink-framed face. "Even if you are, it's cool. You'd be more than welcome to join in."

Yachiru stepped back. She looked after Hitsugaya, who had shouldered his way ahead. "We're not," she said shortly. "But you're wasting your time."

"He's gay?" Yuri gave a crooked half smile. "No problem. They can be turned if you know how." Her hands smoothed her skirt in a particularly suggestive manner. "For a while, anyway."

The other gave a low chuckle. "Long enough."

Yachiru's slim eyebrow twitched. "No, he's … he's waiting," she explained, rather lamely. She felt uncomfortable. Her upbringing had been, in some bizarre ways, deeply conservative.

The taller girl was scrawny and pimpled; her blue-streaked hair hung limply in her eyes. She sported black fingernails and wore a combat jacket over something tight and mesh-y. A child of the modern age, evidently, with nothing but scorn for outworn conventions.

"Waiting for marriage?" she smirked, "Even less of a problem. These born-again types are so sheltered, you know." She winked at her friend. "They break easy."

Bright pink eyes turned in her direction and the girl swallowed, disconcerted. She had assumed Yachiru to be of her own age and mindset. Under the Soul Reaper's unblinking gaze, she suddenly felt very, very young -- for all her rebellion, no different from countless long-dead generations.

These impressions fled, however, at a soft sound -- half snap, half hiss. The stranger had thumbed the hilt of her sword, exposing a few inches of very real blade.

"He's waiting for me." Her voice was level and her face, uncharacteristically, was unsmiling. "He just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

They stepped out of the club onto an urban rooftop. On all sides, countless late-night office windows twinkled iridescent, reflected in streaks on the Kamo River. The oceanic sound of traffic wafted up and around them like a gentle breeze.

Yachiru wrinkled her nose. "I don't wanna tell you your business, Mad Science," she said, clutching her kimono tighter against the wind, "but this isn't a great place for an ID portal. Too much turbulence."

"Well," Urahara drawled, "to be honest, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Without warning, she felt a familiar prickling at the back of her neck. Her hackles rose and she spun, her katana unsheathing as if by its own accord. From the corner of her eye she saw Hitsugaya, too, drop into a defensive position. "What's going on?" Ishida's demanded, a little shrilly. He had pulled out his bow.

"I **am** sorry about the mix-up," the scientist said airily, as if he hadn't noticed anything. "I was rude of me to leave you hanging like that. Something came up, and I had to ponder on it a while. Now, don't be that way," he held out his hands in a soothing manner as the two captains stepped towards him, "Let's be frank, I ponder well and naturally I've come up with a brilliant plan."

His long thin smile twisted a little wryly. "It's just, well, I don't think you'll like it very much."

From the shadows behind him a figure stepped out of nothingness. It was tall and lanky, and it emanated power like a strong stench. "Let me introduce you:" Kisuke continued, though even he sounded strained, "to Senor Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

TBC

-------------------------

Notes: So, after all of that time, this is a pretty paltry offering, and I know it. Sorry. To try to make up for it, (and to try to get my head back into the story) I've drawn a couple of pictures of the main characters. If you're interested, they should be accessible from my profile.

ARG, this is frustrating. Three chapters in and we haven't even met everyone yet. Please be patient. Since this is a wrap-up story, and there's um .. a _cosmic war_ to wrap up, it's a little … complex. A _lot_ of groundwork needs to be laid, a lots of questions need to be asked about the nature of the cosmos being fought over. It's going to be different from the first two.

Here's hoping I don't screw it up too badly.

(Oh, and hey, in the interest of not sucking so much... I've never tried this beta thing and I'm not sure how it works, but um... how does one go about trying to do that?)


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